


A Shadow to Every Light

by Sanctuaria



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: All the usual Framework non-con issues, Alternate Universe - Role Reversal, Angst, Dark Jemma Simmons, Evil Power Couple Jemma/Ophelia, F/F, F/M, I don't even know what I'm doing here, Jemma as the Doctor, Madame Hydra - Freeform, The Framework, but here we go
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-04
Updated: 2020-08-04
Packaged: 2021-03-06 00:00:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,496
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25703992
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sanctuaria/pseuds/Sanctuaria
Summary: “Ms.—Ms. Simmons? Madame Hydra is ready to see you.”“It’sDoctor.”Or, a Framework Role Reversal AU.
Relationships: Framework AIDA (Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D.)/Jemma Simmons, Leo Fitz/Jemma Simmons
Comments: 47
Kudos: 50
Collections: AOS AU August 2020





	A Shadow to Every Light

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first fic for aosficnet2's AoS AU August, because I suck at AUs and at writing things quickly ;) So, Day 3, Role Reversal AU. 
> 
> I...did not expect to be writing this, don't normally write for FitzSimmons, and apologize in advance, I guess? 
> 
> The biggest of thanks to independentalto, who worked for several hours on this with me and is a freaking amazing beta. Seriously, if you like any part of this, it's probably her doing.
> 
> For purposes of making a FS reunion work in this, the bodies of the kidnapped team members had already been recovered, but they still had to go into the Framework to disconnect them safely. Trigger Warnings for the same things as were present in Self-Control and the Framework arc of season 4.

“Hold on.” He held up a hand, the other pressed against his forehead. The beginnings of a headache were coming on, the kind that still reminded him too much of the long months struggling with his brain injury, but another, much stronger fear held it at bay. “Daisy, I could reach out to Jemma—”

“Fitz, we've…we've been over this,” Daisy said, a guardedness in her tone that did not match the pity in her eyes. She reached to put a hand on his arm, but he stepped away.

“Coulson remembers you!” Fitz exploded. “Jemma—Jemma’ll remember _me_. I just have to get to her.”

“Simmons is not the same,” she said, the first tinges of anger at his obstinance coloring her tone. “She's different here.”

“AIDA can twist this reality as much as she wants,” Fitz insisted. “I know, I programmed the code for both of them! And that’s my fault. I’m responsible. But Jemma—she can’t change _Jemma_.” Jemma, the first person to tell him his brain was more than something to be hidden, or something to be used… Jemma, the one who loved homework more than life itself. Jemma, who curled up on the couch with her feet like little icicles against his side and quoted entire episodes of _Doctor Who_ at him because she could…

“The Doctor is not the Simmons you and I know, Fitz. God, she’s second in command at _HYDRA_!”

He shook his head. “No, that’s not…that’s not… She’s a good person,” he said, eyes pleading. “No matter what… _monstrosities_ AIDA may have released on this world, she can’t change that.”

. . .

_“Excuse me…is this seat taken?”_

_“No, go ahead. It’s always good to sit near the front in Dr. Braun’s advanced biochemistry class; he draws the diagrams so small. I’m Jemma.”_

_“…Ophelia.”_

. . .

She strode out of the ornate elevator, all black and chrome, and then up to the door to their penthouse. Blue light flashed in one eye as the retinal scanner activated, followed by the click of the lock disengaging, the door swinging open on oiled hinges to grant her entrance.

Jemma set her bag on the rack by the door, slipping off her flats before moving further into the room. Knowing her, Ophelia was still in her office, working late as usual—as if Jemma herself hadn’t just spent twelve hours straight in her lab, disassembling another Inhuman test subject. She padded forward on soft feet, and as she suspected, Ophelia stood bent over the collection of three large monitors atop her desk, the slightest of frowns creasing her sculpted brow.

“Evening, Madame,” Jemma teased from the doorway, leaning against the frame. Ophelia hit something on her keyboard and rose immediately, her face sweeping blank before her eyes softened, smiling at Jemma. “Everything all right?” she asked, concerned, moving further into the room.

“Of course,” Ophelia replied smoothly, coming around the desk to greet her with a kiss. As always, Ophelia’s mouth was firm and possessive against her own, bringing with it the faint bitter taste of Madame Hydra’s green-tinted lipstick. Slender fingers took hold of Jemma’s waist and Jemma responded with some possessiveness of her own, pushing her back against the desk hard enough for the edge of the wood to dig into the back of Ophelia’s thighs.

Everything with Ophelia was a dark display of dominance and rivaling wills, and Jemma Simmons loved every second of it.

“Dinner?” Jemma asked when they broke apart, her face flushed and Ophelia’s breathing markedly faster than it had been a few minutes before.

“On its way,” Ophelia told her, lips curving upwards again. “Your favorite. How was your day?”

Jemma sighed. “No closer to finding a cure for the plague, I’m afraid. Hit another dead end, subject expired less than six hours after the initial incision. But Project Looking Glass is still on schedule.”

“I’m sorry,” Ophelia said, looking at her with true regret in her eyes. “I know how much your work—” One of the computers behind them chimed, and the expression on her face hardened. It chimed again.

“Maybe I should be asking you how your day was,” Jemma suggested.

“It’s nothing,” Ophelia said, standing up straight and brushing past her to round the desk. Annoyance at the brush-off flickered within her, quickly replaced by concern. Since Cambridge, Ophelia had always been open with her before; there were no secrets between them. Madame Hydra and the Doctor. Of course, Ophelia was the head of HYDRA and Jemma technically her subordinate, but that was how she preferred it—time for her to work studying Inhumans and their powers in search of the final cure, while Ophelia took care of the rest.

She watched Ophelia’s expression darken even further as she leaned over the monitors. “Nothing?” Jemma questioned, and her eyes flicked up to meet hers, something unreadable in their dark depths.

“Your work is too important to be distracted by these…criminals,” she replied. “You are the hope for this world, Jemma. A world where humanity can finally be freed from the abomination of Inhumanity. It’s everything HYDRA stands for.”

“Everything we’ve built, together,” Jemma told her, reaching forward for her hand and lacing her fingers through hers. “We clawed our ways out of the wreckage after Cambridge. We returned order, stability…to make sure nothing could ever make us as vulnerable as we had felt then. If there is a threat to that…”

Eyes never leaving hers, Ophelia twisted the monitor so that she could see it. “A subversive,” Ophelia said as Jemma leaned forward to examine the image on the screen. “Working with a traitor within HYDRA.” A man’s face stared back at her, blue eyes and a mop of brown curls taking over and soft features that still gave him a vaguely boyish look. She could feel Ophelia’s gaze burning into her, but she did not recognize this man.

“He doesn’t look like much,” she said with a small shift of her shoulders. “Is he?”

“He’s nothing,” Ophelia assured her, still with that same burning intensity.

She gave her a supportive smile. “With all of your resources, I’m sure you’ll catch him in no time.”

Something within her lover’s countenance relaxed minutely, and Ophelia slipped around the desk again to stand in front of her. She lifted a hand to trace along her jaw, activating little shivers down her spine. “Jemma…thank you.”

. . .

_“Jemma! Jemma, are you all right?”_

_“I—I’m—”_

_“I saw it on the news, and I knew you were there, and I just—Cambridge—”_

_“Ophelia, I think you were right. Inhumans, S.H.I.E.L.D. working to protect them… It’s an abomination, all of it. Oh, God, the bodies—the screaming—”_

_“It’s all right, Jemma. I’m right here…”_

. . .

Fitz stared in shock as the ramp to the Zephyr descended, two figures in green storming out of it flanked by a cadre of men in full tactical gear. First, AIDA. Darker, like everything in this reality, a velvet cape billowing behind her angular frame and fastened with a silver HYDRA pin. Of course she was here; she was in control of this whole bloody place both inside and outside of it.

And _Jemma_.

But not Jemma. This Jemma had no trace of bright colors or fun patterns or soft sweaters, and was instead cloaked in a black tight-fitting blazer with squared shoulders over a green blouse, shadowy makeup smudged around her eyes and lips painted a dark blood-red. A matching HYDRA symbol glittered at her throat.

“No,” Fitz murmured, and next to him, the murderous bastard Grant Ward grabbed him by the arm, shoving him down behind the bushes they were using for cover. “No, that’s not possible. J-Jemma… W-with AIDA…” Jemma, sitting beside him in his Academy dorm room, hair pulled back in a pretty black headband. Jemma, always willing to talk him through the ramifications and applications of his ideas before his mind ran away with them. Jemma, sobbing and kissing his face goodbye as he handed her their one precious breath of air.

“ _Jemma_?” Ward asked, and for once the sight of his face wasn’t the reason he felt vomit rising in his stomach. “What, are you crazy? That’s the Doctor. And I don’t know who ‘AIDA’ is, but even you should recognize Madame Hydra.”

“I need to get to her, I need to get to Jemma—”

“What you need to do is _stay down_ ,” Ward warned angrily.

Fitz shoved his hands off of him. “Don’t touch me. _Don’t touch me_.”

“Then stay down,” Ward said, turning back to his sniper rifle and peering through the scope. “Can’t hear them from here, but I have the shot.”

“What?” Fitz shrieked, barely remembering at the last second to keep his voice low. “On who?”

“Does it matter?” Ward asked, eye still on the scope.

Fitz grabbed him by the shoulders, hauling him backwards. “Yes! Yes, it does. Shoot AIDA, Madame Hydra, okay? Not Jemma. _Not Jemma_ , Ward!”

“I don’t have a choice. She’s gonna kill her.”

“What? Jemma would never do that, and…” He looked back at the scene, aghast. “She doesn’t even have a gun.”

“She’s the Doctor, that psycho doesn’t need one,” Ward said grimly, giving Fitz yet another odd look. “Madame Hydra doesn’t do her own dirty work. The Doctor does.” He glanced behind him. “Get back to the Quinjet. I'll deal with this and meet you there.”

“Stop!” Fitz insisted. “We need her. I need her. Ward—”

“Need the Doctor, are you nuts?” Ward asked. “That woman is a sadist, and I have a shot. That's the mission now.” Fitz dove for him, knocking the rifle out of his grip where it clattered across the grass. Ward’s hands came up reflexively, punching him across the face, but Fitz held on even as his vision blacked out for a second, fingers scrabbling at Ward’s throat.

He had to protect Jemma. Ward wouldn’t hurt her again. He had to protect her.

“ _Noooo!_ ” The anguished cry made both of them freeze, Ward shoving him off and Fitz standing of his own volition, trying to make sense of the scene before him. Radcliffe stumbling forward, mouth open mid-shout. Agnes, neck slit open in a bright red smile, faltering and tumbling to the ground. And…and holding the dripping silver knife, no trace of remorse in cold brown eyes…

“JEMMA!” The scream ripped itself hoarse from his throat, everything else slowing to a standstill as their eyes met across the field. Gentle, selfless, inquisitive Jemma…

Next to her, Madame Hydra’s eyes fell on him, and she signaled the tac team forward, assault rifles raised and black boots tromping across the grass.

AIDA. She had done this. She had changed his Jemma, twisted her into someone who could— who could—

_The Doctor._

Fitz scrambled for Ward’s dropped rifle, jamming the scope over his eye and fixing the _x_ over AIDA’s retreating back. He pulled the trigger, the kickback of the rifle reverberating up from his arm and shoulder all through his body, then pulled it again and again, as fast as the rifle would go.

Jemma screamed, a horrible, aching sound, as Madame Hydra hit the ground.

. . .

_“Ms.—Ms. Simmons? Madame Hydra is ready to see you.”_

_“It’s_ Doctor _. And I don’t need your permission.”_

. . .

“Ophelia,” she murmured, the woman’s slender hand gripped tightly in hers. “Ophelia, please…” She dragged her gaze away from the pale, slack face of her lover to look at the doctor hovering nearby. “Will she wake up?”

“We’ve done everything we can, ma’am,” he said hesitantly. “We honestly don’t know if she will—”

“Oh, give me that,” Jemma snapped, releasing Ophelia’s hand to snatch the tablet from his grasp. Her eyes swept through the medical charts, the details of the surgeries performed, the slow but steady jumps of the line recording Ophelia’s heartbeat.

“The bullets shattered her T4 and T5 vertebrae,” the doctor said, as if Jemma had not already known that from the device in her hand. “She’ll never walk again, but if they hadn’t, the bullets would have punctured her lung…”

“There are treatments,” she insisted, thrusting the tablet back at him and taking up Ophelia’s cold hand in hers again. “There are treatments…”

“With respect, ma’am, there’s no treatment repairing—”

“Then I will _make one_ ,” Jemma’s eyes flashed. “That man…that _subversive_ …will not take her from us. From me.”

“ _Jemma_ ,” came a whisper from the bed, and she whipped her head around to see Ophelia’s eyes fluttering.

“Yes, I’m here,” she said, squeezing her hand. “I’m here, Ophelia.”

“Jemma…finish it.”

“I will. I will _make them bleed_ for doing this to you. And treatment, we already have organ samples from subject J-69B on file, her powers of regeneration—”

“No, finish…finish the project. Looking Glass.”

“I will,” Jemma promised, reaching forward to rest her fingers gently along the side of Ophelia’s face, cradling her jaw. “I will. Just let me take care of you.”

. . .

_“I just…don’t know who I’d be if I never met you.”_

_“I’d never felt anything…anything like this before you. You opened a whole…a whole world for me, of things I’d never experienced. Things I never thought I would get to experience.”_

_“Goodnight, Ophelia.”_

_“Goodnight, Jemma.”_

. . .

“Fitz, you’re up!” Daisy called from across the factory floor, the yawning chasm between them. Ripples of power extended from her hands toward the vat of molten steel in the floor, revealing the shimmering blue exit to the Framework. His eyes swept the mill again, searching for her even as Daisy called out, “Fitz, come on!” There was an edge of strain in her voice as she fought to keep the portal open with her powers. “Fitz, we’ll come back for her, I promise, but we have to—”

“ _Hello, Leopold_ ,” a voice said from behind him, and Fitz couldn’t help the swell of relief that flowed through him at the sound of her voice. Two men in full tactical gear stood on either side of her, their guns trained on his chest. “That’s your name, isn’t it?”

“Yes,” Fitz breathed. “Jemma—” _Listen to me, Jemma, you have to listen—_

“It’s Doctor,” she informed him coldly. “ _The_ Doctor.” The men with guns shifted their fingers to the trigger. “Now get on your knees.”

“What?” Fitz asked, aghast. “Jemma, no, you have to listen. This—this world, it isn’t real. I know you think it is, but it isn’t!” She cocked her head at him, his arms waving wildly in his desperation to explain. “AID—Ophelia, she isn’t real either. None of it. I created her. You—you accused me of building a robot girlfriend, although I think at the time you were joking,” he begged. “She’s not real, Jemma, and you have to—have to wake up.”

“Created?” Jemma asked. “Robot? I watched the woman I love bleed out in front of me. After you _shot_ her.”

“She’s…she’s manipulating you,” Fitz told her. “She doesn’t love you, because she’s a thing. She’s an _it_. And you were the one trying to tell me that before everything happened. That was _you_ , Jemma, but you don’t remember, because in here, you only remember what she wants you to.” Somewhere in the background, Daisy was calling his name, desperation laced in her tone, but he had eyes only for Jemma. “You want me to explain what’s happening here? We’re cursed. We’re _cursed_ , see, because you and I are in love, but every time we get back together the universe tears us apart. We had years side by side in the lab. Never occurred to us! And then when it does, we don't have the courage to talk about it. You run away and I get my brain injury and when we get the courage to talk about it, you get swept off to some far-flung planet. We finally get you back from _that_ , and you get replaced with a robot version of yourself and stuck in this computer-simulation-nightmare…”

Her face remained impassive. “So…you love me.”

“Yes, because you are a _good_ person,” Fitz told her. “That’s how I know this isn’t you, the real you. I know that because despite everything, I don’t deserve you, Jemma.”

“You’d do anything for me…” she said ponderingly, as if she hadn’t heard him. Each word dropped leaden from her lips. “So get on your knees.”

There was nothing left he could say, so he fell to them, hopelessness sinking in and the sharp bite of concrete jolting through his legs as he hit the floor. She reached into her sleeve, a silver blade clattering to the floor next to him. Almost a scalpel, really.

_Agnes, falling to the ground with her throat slit open in a bright red smile._

He looked up at her.

“Take it,” Jemma commanded. “Cut your wrist. Slowly.”

“ _J-Jemma_ —”

“You want me to believe you? Prove you’d do anything for me. Prove you love me,” she told him, gaze cold and unyielding. _“Pick it up.”_

He looked between her and the knife, then grabbed it with fingers that shook more than they had after his brain injury. “Jemma, please…” He laid the blade against his skin, looking up at her desperately.

_“Through all the insane crap we have gone through, the one thing I've known, without a doubt, the whole time…is you and Jemma belong together. This is not how your story ends.”_

Except maybe it was. Maybe Daisy was wrong after all, the cosmos closing in on them, saying their time was up, not that they’d ever really had any to start with. After the bottom of the ocean and hypoxia and a monolith and a bloody space astronaut and Hive, was he really so surprised that it was about to end with a blade to the wrist and the ghost of a cruel smile on the face of woman he loved?

He gripped the knife, choking over the lump in his throat, his heart pounding in his chest. “Jemma…”

The floor rumbled beneath him, the sharp edge of the knife just nicking him as the two HYDRA soldiers went flying with a blast of Daisy’s powers. He scrambled to his feet, scalpel falling from his grasp, and launched himself at Jemma. Fitz slammed into her full-force, almost sending them both tumbling to the floor, and then held on as tight as he could, his arms clamped around her as she struggled. “The portal!” he shouted, and Daisy’s powers sounded again, vibrations whistling through the air. He began dragging her toward it, her feet kicking ineffectually against him. Tears slipped down his face, blurring his vision as she screamed and struggled, but he kept going, dragging her to the edge. Her teeth bit into his shoulder, wild and feral. He hated that he was hurting her, that it had come to this, that he hadn’t been enough to reach her.

“I love you, Jemma,” he said. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” Then he stepped off the platform, twisting in midair as they hurtled downward so that her body was cradled above him in case he should miss, should they hit the concrete instead—

The bright lights of the lab blinded him as he opened his eyes, blinking, the metal board hard against his back and under his bare feet. His head twisted to the side immediately, searching for her, undoing the straps holding him in place blindly as he struggled to reach her.

The floor was cold against his toes as he stumbled across it on shaky limbs to where her body was propped up on a similar slab. “Jem-Jemma?”

He undid her straps as well, steadying her with his hands, waiting— She sucked in a huge breath, body slipping against the board as she surged into full wakefulness. “Fitz?” she asked, her eyes focusing on him, lips curving up slightly in wonder. She faltered, eyes widening, her expression becoming one of dawning horror. “Fitz…”

He lifted her off the board and she collapsed to the floor with him, eyes frantic. Her fingers scrabbled for him, no, not him, his wrist, and she pushed up his shirt sleeve to see the skin there, whole and unmarked. “I’m okay,” he promised her, ignoring the way his voice was shaking.

She shook her head. “AIDA… What I did…”

“You didn’t know, Jem. It’s not your fault. I created AIDA, the Framework, none of it was you.”

She met his eyes, full-fledged panic within them. “Oh God, I think I’m going to be sick.” Bile and stomach fluids splattered the floor next to them, and Fitz held her through it, rubbing her back. She retched again, gasping as shudders ran through her whole body, leaning against him. “Fitz…”

He pressed a desperate kiss to the top of her head, holding her tight. “I’ve got you, Jemma. I’ve got you.”

“The curse, Fitz…”

“No,” he said. “We made it out. And whatever happens now, we’ll get through it, together.”

**Author's Note:**

> Any and all (non-flame) feedback appreciated :)


End file.
